I started this blog as a new mom, in a new job that suited my desire for flexibility and family time, but that I did not find meaningful or fulfilling. This tension between my professional aspirations and my new family priorities was a major impetus for this blog. If I was no longer defined by what I do, what determines my identity? The obvious answer was my family, but that identity did not include much of the person I was before having a child. In the years since, I have concluded that I am both “mom” and “me,” even as it is becoming ever more difficult to distinguish between the two.

For the past six+ years, I have told myself (and many others have told me) that the ability to regularly work from home, take long vacations, and adjust my work hours to meet my family’s needs was worth compromising my professional ambition. I reminded myself how lucky I was to have colleagues I liked, tasks I was good at, an easy commute, and great work/life balance. At the same time, I placated my nascent ambition by taking advantage of every opportunity for growth available at my agency. During my time there, I was promoted to the highest level, offered the top position in my legal speciality, and completed an intensive leadership development program. The more I accomplished, however, the more clear it became that my work did not contribute to my personal identity. It was a good job, but not a career that I could see myself in for the long term. Thus, it became increasingly clear to me that at some point, I would leave behind my mom-friendly job for something better suited to me.

In sixth grade, we each had to choose a carer that interested us, research it, interview someone in the field, and write a report about the profession. I chose the U.S. Foreign Service. I threw myself into my research. The more I learned about the diplomatic profession, the more I was sure it was for me. My parents even helped me track down a retired ambassador to interview. He assured me the job was more politics than parties, with a heavy dose of principled leadership. I took the Foreign Service Written Exam as soon as I was eligible, but chickened out after the Oral Assessment because I was afraid I’d be lonely and might not meet my soul mate.

Now, more than a decade later, with my soul mate by my side and three small kids tagging along, I have finally joined the U.S. Foreign Service. It was an inauspicious start. After being sworn in at a nearly-empty State Department, the other new Foreign Service Officers and I were instructed to conduct “self study” about the history and practice of diplomacy while our instructors were furloughed. I was happy to have quality time with my family, but many of my colleagues had flown in from far away and left their families behind. After two weeks of readings, online courses, study groups, and lots of uncertainty, we began our training at the Foreign Service Institute two weeks ago.

I’ve always been drawn to public service because it feels meaningful, but also because this inglorious work attracts talented, dedicated people who make inspiring colleagues. The Foreign Service exemplifies this general rule, and I am proud to be among some of the most exceptional individuals I’ve ever met (I’m suffering from some impostor syndrome). Right now, I am being paid to learn, which is literally my dream come true. But during my four hours of commuting each day (round trip), I have lots of time to question whether I made the right choice in leaving my mom-friendly job. The intense schedule (and long commute) of the training is temporary, but being a diplomat is a 24/7 job, often in very challenging parts of the world. Worst case scenario, my family could be ordered to evacuate from our post (see, for example, the recent ordered departures of diplomats’ spouses and children from Venezuela). Even if my family loves where we are assigned, this career means that we will need to pack up and move in two years, and again two years after that. This constant disruption will be hard on me and my husband, but we are looking forward to experiencing many different countries and cultures in a way that is impossible when just visiting as a tourist. I am not sure my children will embrace the frequent re-starts.

Circling back to my 2019 resolution, however, I cannot know how joining the Foreign Service will impact my family until we try it. Over the past seven years, I have constructed a strong foundation with each of my children that I will continue to build upon daily, even if I have less time. I, my husband, and my young kids will all suffer some growing pains as we stretch to fit this new lifestyle I have thrust upon each of us. Guilt plagues me, both for having less time with my family on a daily basis and for imposing my career choice on them. Still, I believe this growth will benefit each of us in ways we cannot predict. I hope that this career jump will turn out to be inspiring and fulfilling for me, but also a valuable gift I can give my children.

My nickname in high school was not flattering, but it was undeniably accurate and has contributed to my self-image ever since. My classmates called me “The Precrastinator” because I was always trying to be ahead of the ball (it wasn’t enough just to be on it). For example, if, on the first day of school, a teacher mentioned that we’d present a final project at the end of the semester, I would stay after class to find out the parameters of the assignment and follow up a few days later to run some topic ideas by the teacher. Others saw this as being a kiss-up or teacher’s pet, but that wasn’t it at all. I did not want to be caught unprepared.

Some work well under pressure; I have colleagues who need a looming deadline in order to focus. I am the exact opposite. I like to have a detailed plan so that I can calmly approach and complete each step in the process. If I suddenly find myself with an imminent deadline (which unfortunately happens as an attorney), I am paralyzed by the pressure of getting it right the first time, without the chance to do all the research or revision I normally would.

My dislike of the unknown goes beyond academic and professional settings. I will drive twenty minutes out of my way to shop at a grocery store where I am familiar with the products and layout, rather than pop into a similar shop that’s on my route. Giving gifts causes me anxiety because unless the receiver put in a specific request, I cannot predict whether s/he will like what I got. I plan my family’s meals at least a week in advance, partly to help with shopping but also because I like to know what my next meal will be. I over-pack for vacations because I try to anticipate every contingency and bring what we might need.

I am well aware of my resistance to being vulnerable to forces I cannot control. Moreover, I know this is not healthy as the only constant is change so my efforts to maintain constant control will inevitably fail or backfire at times. That is why my 2019 New Year’s Resolution is to make peace with uncertainty. Not to embrace it, mind you, but to accept it as a natural part of life and to find strength in my faith, my family, and myself to face it without fear. Plus, it sounded good when friends asked if I had any resolutions. But I had no idea what “peace with uncertainty” would look like, or how I would pursue it.

I need not have worried. Just two weeks into the New Year, and my “normal” life has been doused with uncertainty. The partial government shutdown has left me in semi-vacation mode as a furloughed fed. While I have been enjoying the unexpected time with my family, the fact that I cannot plan play dates, meals, and other commitments more than a day or two out is physically painful. Knowing I could be called back to work at any time, or not, means constantly weighing the opportunity costs of different resource expeditures. It does not help that I will be starting a completely new job, more on that in my next post, with others who are also trying to navigate an unprecedented situation.

In the recent past, my daily life was so predictable that it would have bored most people. Having three small kids was enough to keep me on my toes, however, so I actively avoided as much uncertainty as possible. Now, I find myself in circumstances where there are more unknowns than knowns. I cannot claim to have made peace with it, but I’m getting lots of practice in trying!

]]>http://mom-me.net/?feed=rss2&p=15780Performance Appraisalhttp://mom-me.net/?p=1564
http://mom-me.net/?p=1564#respondFri, 30 Nov 2018 03:35:23 +0000http://mom-me.net/?p=1564It’s that time of year when employees everywhere are getting feedback on how well they are performing in their jobs. Although pretty much everyone hates them, and there have been many calls for their elimination, these annual / biannual / quarterly sit-downs persist in most organizations because they are a useful way to provide formal feedback. These painful meetings force managers and staff to take a hard look at what they do all day and consider how they could be doing it better. An effective manager will cite specific areas for improvement and ask for bottom-up critique as well. In theory, these appraisals offer an opportunity to recognize outstanding work and to correct missteps.

But what if what you do all day (or even part of the day) is raise children? Although more important than pretty much any other way we spend our time, child rearing is frustratingly un-measurable. There is no bottom line to track or lawsuits to win or clients to attract. There are no pounds to lose or awards to win or records to break. Our goal is to keep our children safe, healthy, and (generally) happy and help them develop into good people (however you define that). So how do we know if we are doing a good job? If our toddler bites a playmate, is that evidence we are slacking in our responsibilities? If our child screams that he hates us, does that mean we have failed to get through to him, or that we are doing well at standing firm?

Privileged Attorney Work Product

Some say we can only know if our parenting was “successful” in retrospect, by looking at our children once they are grown. There may be an element of “the proof of the pudding is in the eating” but I cannot accept that there is no way to know in which areas of parenting you are doing well, and where you could do better.

Can you tell I’m a bit of a perfectionist? I would love to get a report card on my parenting periodically, but absent that, I am constantly on the lookout for clues of what is working and what is not. Parent-teacher conferences offer some insight into how my young children behave when I am not around. But while teachers can tell me how many letter sounds my son knows or how well my daughter sits for storytime, they cannot reassure me that my efforts to nurture happy, compassionate and well-rounded little people are succeeding.

Especially because I work full-time, I worry that I may not be having much impact on my children’s development at all. My husband gives me grief for staying up into the wee hours preparing breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the next day, but I feel like at least then I am nourishing their bodies and giving them the best physical fuel to grow and learn. The truth is, I am often not around to create or highlight teachable moments. And even when I am home and giving my kids my full attention, my focus is still split three ways so I cannot give each one what he or she needs all the time.

“Happy Birthday” (in Afrikaans)

Still, every once in a while, my children – that is, the work product itself – give me some valuable feedback on my parenting. For example, for my birthday this year, my daughter chose a card from a South African gift shop to decorate for me. When I asked why she’d chosen that particular card, she seemed confused, “Because it has a picture of you on the front,” she’d explained. Learning that my 3.5-year-old thinks I look like a 20-something boho-chic European supermodel was the best gift I got this year.

Similarly, when his first kindergarten schoolwork was sent home, I was touched to find a worksheet that read: “This is how [NAME] got ready for kindergarten . . . ] My son had dictated “I hugged my mommy” and drawn a picture of the two of us. There were so so many things that my husband and I, and our parents, had done to help our son get ready for school, but when asked, he didn’t mention the expensive backpack, alphabet tutorials, doctor’s appointments, or visits to the school. Instead, all he’d needed was a hug from me. And I have plenty of those to give!

I still worry that I’m making mistakes every day – doing something wrong, or not doing something that I should be doing, or handling something incorrectly. Until there is clear evidence that I am failing as a mother, however, I am just going to keep doing my best and enjoying (almost) every minute of it. After all, even if I was crushing parenting I don’t think there’s any performance bonus aside from the chance to spend time with some wonderful young people. The fact that I love hanging out with my kids is appraisal enough for me.

It sounds cliché to say it seems like just yesterday that you slept in my arms, but it really is incredible how quickly you have turned into a young man. I know you are nervous about starting kindergarten today, even though you put on a brave face most of the time. To tell you the truth, I am pretty nervous about you starting kindergarten, too. Your sensitivity is one of the traits I most treasure in you, but I know your feelings will be hurt – if not this first day, then tomorrow or the next day. Nine straight hours of people and noise will also challenge your introvert’s need for quiet. Then there is the simple fact that you have struggled with learning letters and numbers, and will be behind some (hopefully not most) of your classmates.

I wish I could protect you from the cutting words, chaotic atmosphere, unfair expectations, and anything else that will trouble you at school. When I put you on the bus this morning, I wanted to run behind it to watch you get off so I’d know you made it to your classroom okay. It will take all my willpower not to drive by the playground at lunch time, as my mom used to do, just to see that you have someone to play with and look like you are having fun.

Brave faces

Yet I know this is a journey you must make on your own. Although it is less than a mile away, your school is your world and I may never know all that goes on there. I feel powerless to protect you; I can only hope that your dad and I have given you the inner strength you need to take care of yourself. And of course, we will be waiting for you at the bus stop with open arms, ears, and hearts. My wish for us is that you embrace this new chapter in your life with confidence and courage, and tell your dad and me about any challenges you encounter so that we can support your efforts to overcome them.

My mom still recounts how she cried on my first day of kindergarten. As a kid, I interpreted this anecdote as evidence that my mom didn’t want me to grow up. Now as a mother, I understand that my mom’s tears were not just about me getting older, or even because she would miss spending time with me, although I am sure both were true. Rather, it is physically painful to send my child off into a building full of other children, where strangers will influence him in ways I may never know. As the school bus pulled away with you, my first born, on board, I wondered if I should have packed some tissues in your backpack, or if I was the only one with a lump in my throat. I am frantically sending you telepathic messages that you can do this, that I love and believe in you, and that I’ve got your back.

There goes my life …

Growing up, I always loved school, especially the first day. School supplies still in their packaging, new friends to be made, lots of interesting things to learn and fun to be had. I want to give you this excitement, to carry in your heart as you step into this adventure, but it’s hard when I feel so much trepidation. My mom urged me to be strong, and not let you see my fear. But I want you to know that it is okay to be a little scared, that I love you for that, not in spite of it. There can be no courage without fear. You are a brave boy because you can articulate the full range of emotions you are feeling as you step out on your own. This may be the first such step, but it will not be the last. I can no longer hold you in my arms, but I will hold you in my thoughts even more than usual today and cannot wait to meet the slightly older and wiser you who steps off that school bus this afternoon.

Our idyllic summer adventure has been full of many wonderful moments, when my children’s joy made my heart feel as if it would burst. My one-year-old discovered the ocean and insisted upon charging into it again and again, laughing gleefully when waves knocked him down. My three-year-old has really gotten into the safari mindset, and orders my husband to stop the car whenever she sees an animal, be it a giraffe or a pigeon. My five-year-old and I went zip-lining over waterfalls and when I asked him if he was enjoying it, he replied, “This is more fun than I ever imagined it could be!”

But the downside of a three-month vacation is that it can’t all be fun and happiness, something is bound to go wrong from time to time. For example, my eldest was bit by a tick and developed a high fever, leading us to rush him to a late-night clinic (it wasn’t tick bite fever, just a 24 hour bug caused by some other bug). My baby fell down some concrete steps and got badly scraped up. My daughter got lost at a gas station and when a kindly stranger brought her back, she denied my husband was her father. These rough times will fade from our memories of this magical summer. However, there are two days that I will carry with me like painless scars; reminders of close calls where terror turned to triumph.

The first day started wonderfully. We woke up in the cozy riverside cottage we’d rented near the Adoo Elephant Park (where we’d seen dozens of the magestic creatures and lots of other animals on an 8-hour game drive the day before). A friend of my in-laws gave us a tour of one of the citrus packing plants where he works and we marveled at the degree of scrutiny each orange or lemon received (as well as the human-heavy tasks in a country where labor is still cheaper than machines). We stopped at a cheetah rehabilitation center for lunch and to meet some big cats (who were hoping my kids were their lunch). We were all tired and happy as we set off on the two-lane highway through the bush.

I was reading a brochure about a nearby town I hoped to visit when what felt like a jolt of electricity went through my body. Everything was a blurr when I looked up and I realized our car was spinning in the lane of oncoming traffic. My dad and I had a scary spin-out when I was a teenager, and I remember him saying, “Everything’s okay, don’t panic, we’re going to be fine.” Those same words came from my mouth as our car spun off the road, down an embankment, and crashed into a fence at the bottom of a ditch.

My husband and I turned to see the three stunned faces of our small children in the back seat. After determining that everyone was (miraculously) okay, my husband (a certified Emergency Medical Technician) went into fireman mode and climbed out his open window with our first aid kit to attend to the people in the other car, which was upside down on the other side of the highway. My one-year-old burst into tears, and I carefully maneuvered him out of his carseat (being careful not to jostle the car, which was teetering at a precarious angle). After a short nursing session to calm himself, my baby was delighted that I let him sit in the driver’s seat and make “vroom vroom” noises. As rubber-neckers slowed to gaze down at our sideways car in the ditch, I smiled to myself to imagine their surprise upon seeing a one-year-old at the wheel.

My daughter starting peppering me with questions, trying to process what had just happened. I explained we’d been in a car accident and launched into a lecture about the importance of carseats and seatbelts. My three-year-old was more concerned with liability. “It was just an accident, right? So it’s okay, you’re not mad at me, are you?” I assured her the accident was not her fault (all involved agreed the blame rests squarely with a driver that lost control trying to pass three cars at once) but reiterated the importance of car safety. My eldest child was silent.

Well-intentioned strangers

There was a blur of well-intentioned strangers after that, usually speaking Afrikaans, the first language of most white South Africans. They helped me and the kids out of our car, one woman endeared herself to my chatty daughter who was thrilled to have a captive audience. By contrast, my boys clung to me silently. As a farmer volunteered his pick-up truck to try to pull our car out of the ditch, my five-year-old finally piped up with a bit of trivia he’d learned just days before, “Lucky for us, white cars are the easiest to fix.”

My eldest was also the first to volunteer to enter the ambulance (which looked like a WWII relic to me, the equipment seemed similarly ancient) for a check up. He looked so small on the stretcher, putting on a brave face as the medic took his blood pressure, temperature, and other vitals. We were both glad when the check ups were over and we could cuddle each other again. All five of us slept in the same room that night.

My children don’t seem to have any post-traumatic stress from the accident. I never thought we would die and generally stayed calm throughout, but when I next got in a car about ten days later, every bump in the road felt like someone ramming into us. We drove past the crash site a few weeks later on our way to Cape Town. There was a sign reading, “Danger, High Accident Zone” and a big pile of dirt where our car had been that suggested plans to fill in the ditch. The pain in my neck from the whiplash I received has begun to fade, but the memory of my children’s frightened faces is still fresh. Still, a car accident has always been my greatest fear, so in a strange way, I am glad that it happened. My worst fear was realized and we are all alright. Hopefully, my children will remember the importance of wearing their seatbelts and paying attention when on the road but will not be as fearful of cars as I have always been.

The car accident was a terrible event that no one could have predicted or prevented. But tweeks later I unknowingly subjected my children to danger out of sheer ignorance. We were in Cape Town, my first time there since my husband and I visited as young lovebirds 14 years ago. We have fond memories of climbing the city’s iconic Table Mountain, so thought we’d do it again, this time with our kids. We’d done a lot of hiking during our Garden Route road trip, including some treks that might be considered “intense,” so I was confident our kids could handle it. I figured we’d just go nice and slow, with lots of rest breaks for snacks, and I imagined that my kids would feel so proud of themselves when they reached the top and beheld the breathtaking views.

Stone “steps” like these were the “easy” part

We decided to park near the lower cable car station so we could take the cable car back down the mountain, which meant meeting up with the Platteklip Gorge trail that winds it’s way up a crack in the mountain through a series of steep switchbacks. Information we found online suggested the hike could take 3-4 hours, so we set off around 10am with lots of water and snacks on board. From the very beginning, the hike was steeper than I’d expected . The “trail” was just a pile of rocks that the hiker climbed like stairs, with some steps being 18″ high. That was a challenge for my three foot tall 3-year-old. My 1-year-old was strapped to me in his Ergo, and I’d assumed my husband could always carry my daughter if she got tired, but the steepness of the terrain meant that all of us needed our hands free for balance. I kept waiting for the path to level out, but when that happened, the trail took us right along the edge of the rock face towards the gorge. The path was less than two feet wide, with jagged rocks to our right and a vertigo-inducing drop to our left. “Hug the mountain!” I kept yelling to my 5-year-old, who was leading our little party. Whenever we passed other hikers on their way down the mountain, they looked at us like we were crazy at best and negligent parents at worst, but invariably wished us luck.

Hug the mountain!

I hadn’t known we would need luck. I knew we might have to take a lot of breaks, tolerate some whining, and maybe take turns carrying our 3-year-old, but it had never occurred to me that a member of my family could get hurt on this day trip. About an hour into our hike, however, I began to wonder what would happen if a child slipped off the edge of the mountain. Or what if she got so cold that she got frostbite? Or so dehydrated that he passed out?

We were about two hours into our climb when it began to rain. This being the dead of winter, we knew it would be cold at the top of the mountain, so I did not want anyone to get too wet. My husband boosted us all into a crag on the side of the mountain where we ate peanut butter sandwiches with a rock overhang for shelter. No one wanted to turn back, so when the rain let up, we carried on. Water pouring from the top of the mountain created waterfalls across the path. I whispered prayers under my breath each time one of my kids skipped across the slippery rocks, giggling as the waterfall’s spray hit them in the face. Suffice it to say, as with our car accident, my children were not scared, but I was terrified for them.

It did get bitterly cold as we got closer to the top of the mountain, shrouded in mist so thick we could only see a few feet in front of us and everything was wet. Instead of the elation I expected we’d feel when we finally reached the top, by then, my children were freezing and I was eager to get off the mountain as quickly as possible. We made our way to the restaurant to warm up and then enjoyed the (overpriced but worth every cent) cable car ride back to the bottom. I was relieved that our five-hour ordeal was over, but insanely proud of my children. As we walked to our car, my husband told the kids that there’s another trail to the top on the other side of Table Mountain and asked f they’d like to hike that one tomorrow.

“Yes!” enthused my five-year-old son, to my surprise.

“No,” began my daughter, still bundled in several layers of sweatshirts, “why can’t we climb it again right now?”

Monkeys!

My children will probably not remember these events for long. For them, these were just two days in a long summer in South Africa filled with far more interesting adventures (like their first waterslide park, monkey encounters, and cricket camp). However, what was heart-stopping to me at the time has become heart-warming in retrospect as I marvel at the resilience and positivity of my offspring. Our car accident and Table Mountain climb will become part of their life history through my telling of the stories, but I will recount them as triumphs. We climbed out of a ditch and up a mountain, and we are all – individually and as a family team – stronger for it.

]]>http://mom-me.net/?feed=rss2&p=15300Land of the (Fence) Freehttp://mom-me.net/?p=1515
http://mom-me.net/?p=1515#respondSat, 30 Jun 2018 12:38:01 +0000http://mom-me.net/?p=1515Nothing makes me as patriotic as traveling. Don’t get me wrong, the people, animals, and landscapes of South Africa are wonderful, and even the weather has been lovely this “winter” (generally in the 60s each day), and yet, wherever you look there are signs of the corruption and distrust that are robbing this beautiful country of its potential for greatness.

My family and rhino family selfie

When we first arrived, we became members in a local game reserve, where we regularly visit the giraffes, zebra, warthogs, cheetahs, monkeys, buffalo, and other native animals. One highlight was when the mommy and baby rhinoceros came to join us for lunch in the reserve’s picnic spot. Being feet away from the massive creates was humbling. Just a week after our encounter, my family was devastated to learn that the mommy rhino had been killed by poachers (even though the reserve owners had recently humanely removed its horn in an effort to keep it from becoming a target). Video of the sound of that baby rhino (sixteen months old and still nursing, just like my son) crying for his mama was painfully similar to the tears of the immigrant children separated from their parents at the U.S. border, and equally inhumane. The difference is that in the U.S., people take to the streets and petition their elected representatives because (i) it is safe to do so, and (ii) we believe our protest may effect some change. Neither is true in South Africa. Although the South African locals condemned the rhino killing, the law enforcement here is so corrupt and disorganized, that there is no chance of ever bringing the perpetrators to justice.

Corruption at the top has had devastating consequences for South Africa. Blatant disregard for the rule of law by government officials undermines the country in many ways. For example, when elected officials refuse to pay their taxes, and get away with it, many more people decide they will not pay their taxes either. This results in less revenue for the state, and a loss of faith in the system. Because laws are rarely enforced, police and other law enforcement officials are not highly regarded. In turn, these professions cannot recruit people of integrity or afford to pay them a decent wage, so they make a living from soliciting bribes. Without law enforcement to serve as a deterrent or public services to ensure basic needs are met, crime is rampant. A desperately poor person will kill someone for a cell phone.

Today’s front page (doctors and nurses at a local hospital are refusing to work after dark due to near-daily physical attacks on them and robbery of their personal and medical items)

The resulting crime statistics are staggering. Last year, an average of 52 people were murdered each day (56 per 100,000 people in the Eastern Cape province where we are currently); 109 people were raped each day, nearly 600 people were robbed each day, and an average of 676 homes were burgled each day. It’s no wonder that many South Africans live behind walls with electric fences and in a constant state of fear.

This fear breeds it’s own set of problems, where people don’t trust each other, especially if they are from different racial, ethnic, or socioeconomic backgrounds. Before spending extended time here, I had not realized how much I rely upon the kindness of strangers in my everyday life. I wouldn’t hesitate to ask a stranger on the street for directions, or a fellow passenger on the bus to hold my baby while I collapse his stroller. Similarly, I take for granted that I can go for a night hike with my three kids in our neighborhood and worry only that they might get really dirty. Here, I feel vulnerable any time I venture beyond the house’s walls, especially with my kids. There are beautiful trails through the valley behind where we are staying, but I have been warned to never venture down there. And I won’t, because after fourteen years of visiting South Africa, I have learned that my gut instincts are not properly calibrated for this country.

I will be sad to leave the people and animals of South Africa next month, but I will not miss the fear that clouds their country’s sunny skies. Happy (Belated) 4th of July!

The second page of today’s paper describes how a pride of lions killed a team of would-be poachers before they could kill more endangered rhinos (nature’s revenge)

]]>http://mom-me.net/?feed=rss2&p=15150Life at the Speed of Childhoodhttp://mom-me.net/?p=1496
http://mom-me.net/?p=1496#respondThu, 07 Jun 2018 13:01:06 +0000http://mom-me.net/?p=1496* Happy Father’s Day! None of this – my blog, my family’s summer-long adventure, or my family itself – would be possible without my amazing husband. Similarly, I would not be as able and willing to take a three-month hiatus from my job and daily pressures without the support and encouragement of my Dad. Both fathers have been instrumental in helping me create my dream life. Thank you! *

Slowing down for a better look

As I wrote in my last post, my family has taken the summer off from our hectic schedule of work, preschool, dance / gymnastics / swimming / soccer classes, birthday parties, play dates, home improvement projects, yard maintenance, etc. in the hopes of slowing down for some quality time together before my oldest starts kindergarden. As much as we enjoy all the people and fun activities in our daily life, we seem to always be busy doing something so there doesn’t seem to be much time left for actually living. Far too often, when one of my kids will ask me to read a book, play a game, or do yoga with them, I say something like, “Sure honey, I’d love to, right after . . . . ” but never get around to it. This summer, I have been able to enthusiastically respond, “Yeah, let’s do it!”

In recent months, I’ve also grown uncomfortable with how much my husband and I instruct our kids to “hurry up,” “sit down,” and “be quiet.” The reality of our busy life means that we are often trying to get somewhere, but it is completely understandable that my child wants to finish the Lego robot he’s building or examine the new flower bud that’s sprouted on her way to get in the car. Why should what we care about always take precedence over what they care about at a given moment? This summer, on the other side of the world with nothing we have to do and nowhere we need to go, we are allowing the kids to set the pace most of the time (although not when there’s a plane to catch or it’s bedtime). Similarly, research has shown that human beings should not sit as much as we do, and kids especially need movement to learn about the world around them. So we are letting them run and climb and even stand at the dinner table if they want. Finally, I don’t want my kids to lose their shout. Their zeal is still unrestrained by social expectations and self-consciousness. They get caught up in a moment of joy, surprise, imagination, anger, or frustration and get LOUD. I want that to be acceptable this summer.

Now a month into our summer adventure, I can report that this is easier said than done, but it can be achieved. My husband and I are on the same page with these goals, and it takes proactive efforts to pursue them. Small children are generally more active and noisy than is appropriate in most locations. In a restaurant or grocery store, I have to repeatedly ask my kids to stay still and quiet down. To remain true to our vision for this summer, my husband and I have worked to create spaces where my kids can be kids as loud as they want and explore at their own speed.

Feeding wild bunnies

Good places for child-driven days are game reserves, farms, and the beach, where no one is in a hurry. But a special destination is not necessary. For example, this week we took a day-long walk. I packed sandwiches, fruit, and water bottles and we set off with our double stroller (which meant our three kids had to take turns walking). We stopped by the miniature train tracks where we’d ridden on a tiny steam engine the day before. From there, we fed vegetable scraps to a field of wild bunnies. Then it was on to a park overlooking a valley where we had a blast on an old-school teeter totter and a metal jungle gym that would not pass American safety standards. We had a picnic in the shade before walking on to a local bakery for a loaf of fresh-baked ciabatta bread.

As we walked, we discussed things we saw, heard, felt, and were thinking about. We did ask our kids to stay off the road, but we walked at their pace – stopping often to admire flowers, insects, or fancy houses – and never asked them to keep their voices down. I knew that it is unheard of for a white family to be out walking, but i never felt unsafe and I didn’t mind the funny looks. We returned to my in-laws’ home five hours later, tired and happy.

Grand plans unfolding

Although it has taken us a bit to break bad habits, there’s no doubt that we are hurrying, restraining, and shushing our young children less. And when we only raise our voices once or twice a day, our kids listen. Overall, the last five weeks have proven my theory that children’s poor behavior is inversely related to the amount of attention they are receiving from their parents. My kids are usually pretty good, but there has been even less arguing, crying, and complaining since we have been more focused on them. Of course, we cannot cater to our three kids all the time. When my husband and I want to do our own thing (e.g. watch a rugby game, write this blog post, read a book, etc.), we simply explain that we need some time for ourselves but we would be glad to do what they want when we are done. Since our days are unscheduled, we can always follow through on this promise. So we get our grown up time while our kids entertain themselves and then we reconnect afterwards.

Unfortunately, we cannot maintain this work/school-free lifestyle forever. Nor would I want to. It seems that every day there is a fun playdate, neighborhood gathering, birthday party, camping trip, or work event we are missing at home. Part of me is looking forward to going back. In the meantime, we are making progress in developing new habits during this three month pause that we can bring home to our regularly scheduled life. If we can give our kids a little more time to do what they want and a bit more space to move and make noise, I believe we will all be happier, calmer, and more cohesive as a family. Lucky for us, we have two more months to practice.

One of the ways our family likes to pass the time when we are traveling is to tell collaborative stories. We each take turns adding a sentence until we agree the tale is complete. The narration tends to be fast-moving, but this time I did my best to keep up so I could record this one. It’s called: “Clabba and Llabba’s Happy Adventure.”

Once upon a time, there was a family going on a long trip. They had no food, and that’s why they were going on the trip, so they could get some food. There was a little sheep that lived with the family and it went on the trip with them. Since everyone in the car had no food, they stopped at the side of the road and made a sign that said, “Please give us some money for food.”

Clabba and Llabba were driving along and they had some food that they shared with the family and their sheep. They all ate fish and chicken together. They all got along so well that the family invited Clabba and Llabba to join them on their trip.

They drove until they reached the darkest forest ever. It was so dark that the family did not want to go near it, but Clabba and Llabba were brave enough so they took the sheep into the woods. They found so many wild animals so they hunted them and brought back lots of food for everyone.

Clabba and Llabba shared the food with everyone, so even the people who did not have any food were not hungry anymore.

The only constant is change. I know this to be true, and yet, like most humans, I find change frightening and uncomfortable, so I resist it even as it is unfolding.

In a mindful leadership course last month, our guide introduced the meditation mantra, “Nothing needs to change right now.” As that temporary reality resonated in my body, my muscles relaxed, I exhaled breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, and I sat straighter as a weight floated off my shoulders. Since then, I have carved out a few minutes each day to sit quietly in this unchanging place. It feels like getting off a merry-go-round; the surroundings still seem to be spinning but I know that I am standing still. There is a moment of residual dizziness, and then, peace. Unfortunately, these calm minutes always pass too quickly. Soon my To Do list resumes its assault and I am thrust back into the world of constant change.

Amongst the endless shifting changes that slowly reshape our individual worlds like the river that persistently smooths the boulders along its banks, there are times of rapid change that may alter the river’s course entirety. Sometimes there is no warning of the storm to come, but often there are clouds on the horizon.

My eldest is starting kindergarten in September. I realize this is not Earth-shattering, but it will mark a shift in the dynamic of our family. With a school-aged child our vacations will be restricted to school holidays, and our quality time with our son will be limited to a few hours in the late afternoon and evening most days. No longer will our three musketeers be off having adventures together; their leader will be conspicuously absent. And unlike at the cooperative preschool where we know what he’s doing and who he’s with the couple hours a day our son is out of sight, starting in September, we will simply put our sweet little boy on a school bus and meet it seven hours later. We do not know what challenges kindergarten will bring – bullies, peer pressure, new rules, homework, tests, etc. – but we do know that it will change our family’s daily life.

Stop Ahead

Since we can see the change coming but cannot stop it, the best I can do is to hit, “Pause.” To set aside some time when nothing needs to change. So tomorrow I will tidy my office, clean out my gym locker, and empty our fridge. We are pushing “pause” on the relentless business of our daily lives. For the next three months, my family has no plans, no agenda, no obligations. We are traveling to the other side of the world with just a few outfits and a lunchbox full of Lego.

The are plenty of things my family and I want to do with this time – read and journal more, build a mud kitchen and a fairy garden, establish a habit of family meetings, try to cook and eat new foods, etc. – but nothing that we must do. As a purpose-driven person, I do not think there has ever been a time in my life when I was not actively trying to achieve something. It’s possible we will get bored. We may get sick of each other. We will definitely become tired of our very limited wardrobes. We will be homesick for our friendly cul-de-sac and DC “family” at times. But when the dizziness passes, we will be together as a family in a way we never have before. No more competing interests or conflicting schedules. No more hurrying from one commitment to the next. For three whole months, nothing needs to change. Instead of human doings, we will relish the chance to be simply human beings. And because we are not trying to change anything, I suspect we may grow in a way that is more true to ourselves than if we’d spent the summer learning to swim, ride a bike, speak Spanish … I will report back on this grand experiment.

]]>http://mom-me.net/?feed=rss2&p=14732The Last First Birthdayhttp://mom-me.net/?p=1451
http://mom-me.net/?p=1451#respondThu, 03 May 2018 02:39:15 +0000http://mom-me.net/?p=1451

Evidence of parties come and gone …

There is nothing like watching a baby transform from a wrinkled, helpless bundle into a walking, babbling, little human with his own ideas (“What happens if I scoop all the cat’s dry food into her water dish?”), opinions (books on floor > books on shelves), sense of humor (blowing raspberries on Mommy and Daddy is hysterical), and personality (“Whatcha doin’?”). Birthdays offer a valuable opportunity to reflect on the all-too-fast passage of time and celebrate the countless bumps in the road we traversed to get here.

As my last child reached his first birthday this weekend, I was also celebrating my own growth as a parent. The first time around, these initial twelve months were full of imagined dangers – every fever, fall, and missed milestone was cause for concern. I have since learned that each child is an individual from the day he or she is born and that keeping them safe does not mean protecting them from every physical or emotional injury. With my third child, I finally managed to swap paranoia for perspective.

Not only was I somewhat more relaxed when my third child was born – and thus more able to enjoy getting to know him – I also got the thrill of watching my two older children, ages two and four when their brother was born, experience the wondrous transformation of a human being’s first year. My preschoolers are more attuned to their brother’s needs (“Mommy, he wants milk!”), emotions (my daughter has perfected a silly face that cracks the baby up every time), and development (they are constantly teaching him new things) than any helicopter parent. With no judgment, they tease him about holding his sippy cup upside down and gently correct him. From a place of pure unconditional love, they applaud each unaided step their little brother takes as if he was the first child to ever learn to walk.

Just the right number of cooks in the mud kitchen

Of course, their baby brother interrupts my big kids’ story time, knocks over their fort, and tries to eat their Legos. To their credit, they are incredibly patient with him. When they do get frustrated , it is generally for good reason. I also get annoyed when he pulls all my spices out of the cupboard and spills my vanilla extract on the kitchen floor. Welcoming a baby into your home always requires some adjustment. I have seen the sibling power dynamic, which has been slightly skewed toward my tenacious daughter since she was born, shift with the arrival of our third child. Now they are the “big kids” and they band together to protect “their” baby. The older two are quick to intervene – or call a grown up – whenever our baby is in danger, and they always take his side in a playdate scuffle.

For my husband and I, the first few months after we became a family of five remain a blur. Just as we’d gotten our first two kids to sleep through the night in their own beds, our nights were assaulted by a new cavalcade of growth spurts, tummy troubles, teething pain, fevers, congestion, and inexplicable 4am “wide awakes.” Returning to my busy but unfulfilling job when our baby was just eight weeks old led to many tearful commutes. Soon after that, my husband began spending the night once a week at our local fire station where he volunteers as a certified Emergency Medical Technician. Although it felt impossible at first, I slowly developed an approach to being “on call” for all three small children overnight (though I still do not know how single parents do it night after night after night). My husband even went back to school this year, taking online courses from a local community college, which meant that I had to get all three kids out of the house for large chunks of time on the weekends so he could study. It was not so long ago that taking two little kids to the playground was a mission. Now I juggle three, if not with grace and ease, at least with gratitude at the chance to be together.

Being celebrated is exhausting …

So with four celebrations to commemorate my baby’s first birthday and baptism this weekend, I was also marking my growth as a parent and a person in the past year. Not only did I keep that helpless bundle alive (with lots of help from my husband, parents, his siblings, and others), I have thoroughly enjoyed the joyful disruption he has brought into our lives. As my baby beams his two-tooth grin and cheerfully waves “bye bye” to his first year on Earth, I am excited to see where we grow from here.